


Upon Less-Than-Sober Reflection

by valderys



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-16
Updated: 2010-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valderys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So.  He was a tweenager, was he?  On Merry's birthday he gets to give advice as well as gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon Less-Than-Sober Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Marigold's Challenge 11 in 2004. The prompt was to write about some kind of celebration.

So. He was a tweenager, was he? It was funny, he didn't feel any different. Well. Drunk. Certainly drunk. But that wasn't different, was it? He'd been drunk before. Once or twice. When he could sneak a jug of cider out to the tack shed, or filch a bottle of wine from dinner under his coat. Tasted better that way. Well, pies did. Stolen ones, that is. Tasted better, when they were stolen. So it was probably the same with wine. Or was it porter, that time? Or was it…? But he couldn't remember if this ale – this legitimate perfectly-legal-because-he-was-a-tweenager ale – had tasted better or worse, when he had drunk it. Drunk. He was drunk. Certainly he was. And it was then that Merry realised he wasn't making much sense. On his birthday he was allowed to though, wasn't he? Make no sense, that is. And it wasn't as if he was speaking aloud.

"I'm not speaking aloud," he announced.

There was movement from the corner of his eye, and he turned his head, just a little – a very little, because when he did the world started spinning somewhat disconcertingly – and saw that his cousin Berilac was attempting to drag himself out from under the table. He looked very funny. Ridiculous, in fact, with his hair all on one side and matted down with – was that jam? – so it made perfect sense for Merry to giggle. Perfectly natural reaction, really, especially considering how drunk he was. Drunk. He was drunk. Ouch.

The ouch was because Berry had extricated himself from the puzzle of the table legs and had tackled him where he sat against the wall. It was probably the wall. Anyway. Something solid and wall-like. And Berry had launched himself in a flying heap of arms and legs – and how unfair that Berry should be this co-ordinated when Merry could barely manage sitting upright, and laughing 'til his sides hurt? – and began to tickle him. Ouch. It was his birthday. Should Berry be tickling him unmercifully on his birthday? It really didn't seem fair…

"Berry, get off me right this minute, or I'll…"

"Or what? You'll do what?"

Berry sounded quite ferocious as he held Merry in a headlock that was really quite uncomfortable. Well, who knew? Berry was a truculent drunk. Absently, Merry wondered what kind of drunk he would turn out to be, once he'd got the hang of it properly and all that, and then started to smile despite himself. They must look pretty funny, after all…

"I'll throw up."

Hastily Berry let go.

"You wouldn't!"

"Well, I might have done, being jiggled around like that. You can't jiggle me around, Berry, it's my birthday. It's not allowed."

Berry's normally cheerful face was frowning some more, "Are you telling me what I can do? Are you?"

Merry thought about that. Was there an easy answer? Yes, of course. "But it's my birthday," he announced again, proudly.

Muttering to himself, Berry sat back and proceeded to try and finger comb the stickiness – was that honey? – out of his hair.

Greatly daring, Merry attempted to push himself up, using the wall – nice wall, friendly wall – into some kind of standing position. It seemed to work, although things were spinning rather more than he was expecting. With difficulty Merry peered across the room, trying to see where the rest of his friends had got to. He wondered if it was late, and then thought some more, and wondered if it was early. The Great Hall seemed very empty either way, and rather large. How was it that he'd never noticed before that it was such an awfully long way to the door?

Then a steady hand was under his elbow, and a calm voice was saying, "Easy does it, Merry, my lad. Ups a daisy…"

Good old Frodo. He loved Frodo. He did. He really did. The warmth of his love for his dearest cousin Frodo blossomed in his chest like sunshine, like hot chocolate on a cold day, and he tried to turn and tell him so, when he felt the world shift a little and felt himself begin to slide.

"Mmmph…" was as close as he got, as Frodo caught him, and Merry nearly ended up telling Frodo's jacket how much he loved it. Just as well, thought Merry muzzily. I don't love his jacket. Not at all. Rather a bright blue actually, too bright. Does go with his eyes though – I expect that's why he bought it. His own jacket, his own money, his own master in Bag End. Lucky Frodo. Luckiest Frodo. But he does live on his own now, since Bilbo left, and that's sad. He must be lonely knocking about in that enormous smial all alone. Must be.

"I'm going to come and live with you, Frodo," he said grandly, once his mouth was free of cloth.

"Are you now?" Frodo sounded amused, "And why are you going to do that?"

Merry felt his cousin put an arm around him, and begin to steer him towards the main door. He was quite proud of himself when he stumbled only a very little bit.

"So that you won't be on your own anymore."

He only caught the flinch because Frodo was holding him so closely, and even then, as he clutched at Frodo's jacket once more, and a cloud of beloved Frodo smell – pipeweed and spice, and autumn leaves – swirled around him, making him dizzy, somehow Merry knew this was important, important enough that he couldn't let it go. No, he had to hang on, even if Frodo had loosened his grip, even if Merry wasn't thinking clearly – and he knew he wasn't, not really – this was still important. Important enough to… What had he been saying?

"Frodo, what's wrong?"

He felt Frodo's arm across his shoulder go a bit stiffer. "Nothing, Merry. Come on, let's get you to bed."

He stopped. Dead. And stood swaying in the middle of the room, blinking at Frodo. He was a tweenager now. Almost completely grown. He could hold his ale, and he could smoke a pipe, and he could… He could… Frodo was tugging – rather ineffectually – at his arm, but Merry had always been built on more solid lines than Frodo, and now he had most of his growth, well, making him move when he really didn't want to was a lot harder than when he'd been a child. And at this moment he was quite grateful for it too.

"Frodo…" There was something important he wanted to ask, wasn't there? Now he was all grown up, he deserved to know such things, he wanted to help. It was his birthday – he was determined to help. No-one should be sad on his birthday. "You're not happy."

That was it. That must definitely be it. Wasn't it?

"Merry…" Why was Frodo looking at him like that, with his hands on his hips, and a slightly exasperated look in his eye? And he'd let go too, and suddenly Merry realised that Frodo's arm may have been a more important source of support than he had realised, as he lurched rather alarmingly. This was a problem, he decided with dignity, but one that was easily solved, and hurriedly put out his hand to steady himself. Oh, horrid stickiness – was that Berry's jam? – oh dear…

There was a crash and a clatter and then suddenly Merry was on the floor again, with what appeared to be a gravy boat in his lap, and the crisp white folds of a tablecloth floating down to cover his head. He batted at it feebly, thinking that this was not something that happened to other hobbits when they were trying to be serious. But then, as he thought about it, he realised that other hobbits would probably not try to be serious while quite this drunk. He giggled.

There was movement and a shifting beside him. The tablecloth was raised a bit and Frodo crawled inside. It was dim here, like a little tent, with the linen still half on the table and the rest draped quite comfortably round Merry. It was warm, and snug, and smelled of dinner. Merry was quite content in here, now that he came to think about it. He turned his head and looked at Frodo, who at least didn't look exasperated anymore. Although there were still two little vertical lines between his brows. Impulsively, Merry threw his arm round him and leaned his head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Frodo. Of course, if you want to be sad on my birthday then that's all right, and I'll leave you alone, and I'm sorry I mentioned it. But I'd much rather if you weren't. Selfish of me, really, I know that now."

"Merry…" Frodo shifted beside him, turning to look at him, Merry thought, and so he peered up at Frodo and tried grinning a little – that always worked when he was smaller – and although he was a grown up tweenager now, it still seemed to work, for Frodo's lines smoothed out and he laughed a very little.

"Oh Merry, what am I going to do with you?"

"Oh, for goodness sake, you don't need to do anything with me. Just tell me what's wrong. I'll only worry if you don't, you know."

Frodo was looking quite thoughtful now, as far as Merry could tell from his slightly odd angle. "Yes, you will, won't you? Even on your birthday."

Merry made a pshaw sort of sound to indicate what he thought of that, hugged Frodo tighter and waited. He hadn't known Frodo all his life without picking up a trick or two. Frodo only got sentimental if he was willing to crack and spill the beans. If Merry could somehow manage to avoid any more drunken accidents he might even hope to find something out, which in and of itself was rare enough. Frodo always kept everything close to his chest, all buttoned up tight and out of sight. Well – they were both out of sight now, weren't they? Under here. So that was all right then.

He dug his chin into Frodo's shoulder, sighed quietly, and shut his eyes. He felt Frodo reach a hand over and tentatively stroke his hair, starting to pull out the ever-present tangles. It felt nice, even though he was far too old for such stuff really, and he must remember to tell Frodo so. Sometime.

"I'm not sad, Merry, not really. I promise." Merry dug his chin in a little more, and heroically refrained from poking his cousin for such obvious mendacity. "It's just…"

There was a pause.

"Since Bilbo left, I've been… Well, Bag End is rather large for one, and I'm not quite used to…" The awkward words stumbled to a stop with a sigh of Frodo's own, "It's just that I've never lived on my own before, I think. And being here at Brandy Hall again, well, it reminded me – of how things used to be."

Merry decided it was time to open his eyes again, however nice it was resting on Frodo's shoulder.

"So you miss living with other hobbits, do you?"

"Well…" Frodo's eyes were very large and very blue, Merry decided. It made him look far too young. Almost as young as Merry. And in many of the ways that mattered perhaps he was too young, despite his official status now as a properly come of age hobbit. Or maybe naïve was a better way to put it? Or too romantic?

"Merry, why are you staring at me like that?"

Merry shook his head slightly. "Sorry… Tell me, Frodo – what do you remember about living at Brandy Hall?"

"Umm. Well, I remember curling up in the nursery with you, Merry, and the other little ones, and telling you all stories… I remember roasting chestnuts in the autumn, and the snowball fights we used to have in the winter once it got cold enough… And the sing-alongs when we'd all gather round the main hearth and make toast, and share tea out of the big brown urn… I remember…" His voice was wistful and a far away look was creeping into his eyes. Merry refrained from poking him once more, but he did make the pshaw sound again. He thought it summed up his feelings nicely.

"So you don't remember being late for breakfast for the umpteenth time, and being forced to make do with the leavings of forty other hobbits, including the burnt bits at the bottom of the scrambled eggs pan, and something dried up and strange that might once have been a kipper? You don't remember shivering half-naked for hours waiting fourth or fifth in line for a bath, because it's too much trouble to heat up the water just for one? You don't remember sharing a dormitory with half a dozen other hobbit-lads, with no room to call your own, and a lock on your chest that doesn't work properly?"

"Merry! That's most unfair! You don't have to do any of those things!" But Frodo was smiling now, and that made Merry feel better, so this time he did poke him a little.

"No, I don't. I'm lucky, I'm the Master's heir – of course, I don't. But I remember – I just about remember, from when I was small – that you had to do those things, Frodo. Don't you remember? And I see things as they are now – life hasn't changed that much here in the Hall, you know. I think, if you did come back here, that you'd find it most uncomfortable. Don't you?"

"Well – and I'm not planning on doing this, mind you – but if I did come back here to live, I wouldn't be coming back as a poor relation any more. Things would be different."

Merry thought about this for some moments, giving it his whole attention, which was quite tricky given his inebriation. He could spot at least one other argument to use, but found his tongue hesitating. The dizzying thought of Frodo coming back to live here in Brandy Hall was like drinking another pint of ale on top of his already impressive skinful, and quite frankly, he didn't need any more, the way his head was spinning. Perhaps if he stopped now, just let Frodo take him away and let him sleep it off, perhaps if he didn't think about it any more, and just let Frodo make up his own mind, perhaps Frodo really would decide to come back and live with them here in Buckland? Could he be that lucky? On his birthday?

Then Merry sighed a tiny little sigh. It was a wonderful thought. It made his heart wrench in a way that startled him in its intensity, but it was only a lovely dream, that was all. And terribly selfish of him, really. You were meant to give presents on your birthday – not receive them. He marshalled his arguments.

"Well, you wouldn't be the poor relation any more, that's true. And Mama would like it above all things. I know she's got plans."

"What?"

"Oh yes. There are all sorts of female cousins and such that she wants to introduce you to, you know. Now you're of age. And if you were here, then…"

"Now hang on…"

"And if you did meet a nice lass and get married then you wouldn't be on your own any more. Even if you did go back to Bag End. There'd always be someone there to take care of you, and put your things in order – you know how messy your study gets, Frodo – and cook for you, and sort everything out. And then you wouldn't have to worry any more. In fact you wouldn't have to worry ever again. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

There was a bit of a pause, and Merry casually glanced over at Frodo, who was looking a bit startled. His eyes were all wide and pale, even in the dim light under the table, and Merry let go the last of the traitorous urge to hold on to him and make him stay, and instead patted his sleeve comfortingly.

"So do you still want to come and live at Brandy Hall?"

Frodo turned to him and Merry smiled innocently. Then, his balance not being at its best, nearly fell sideways when Frodo lightly punched him on the arm.

"Wretch!" Frodo growled, a grin of his own tugging at his lips, "You don't hate the place that much, do you?"

"What? Of course not – Brandy Hall's my home and I love it. But we're not talking about me, now are we?"

There was another pause, this one longer and more thoughtful. Merry let his poor head float, all full of cotton wool, and there was a buzzing like bees in the back of his mind. He hoped that he wouldn't have to think much more tonight – it was starting to get far too difficult. He came back to himself to find Frodo crawling out from under the tablecloth. Merry sighed, and decided that however nice it was under here, Frodo was right. They had to move on.

He took the hand that Frodo offered, and allowed himself to be pulled onto his feet. The Great Hall had grown even emptier, it seemed, and was only dimly lit by the last of the candles and a glimmer of light from the reddened hearth. It had been a good birthday, Merry thought, as he looked around at the debris. The very best. And as Frodo put an arm back around his shoulders and squeezed, Merry felt his heart squeeze too, just a little. He was a tweenager now, wasn't he? And it did feel different. He was grown up. Or at least, very nearly so. Certainly grown up enough to know what was best for his beloved cousin. Even if he didn't know himself.

"Come on," said Frodo fondly, "Let's get you to bed."

And Merry let himself be tugged, and then found himself wondering wistfully if Frodo could be persuaded to tuck him in, like he used to do when Merry was only small. After all, he had been rather grown up tonight, and he felt sure that he would be again tomorrow. In fact, he was certain he'd be rather good at being grown up. But for now… For now, he wanted to be young again. Just for a little while.

For his birthday.


End file.
